


His Act

by JuweWright



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Circus, Discrimination, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Escapism, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Family Feels, Family Issues, Gen, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Phillip Carlyle, Mutual Pining, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Phillip Carlyle Needs a Hug, Pining, Post-Canon, Protective P. T. Barnum, Suicidal Thoughts, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-03-09 03:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18909052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuweWright/pseuds/JuweWright
Summary: Phillip Carlyle joins P. T. Barnum's circus... and meets Anne Wheeler who sweeps him off his feet in more than one way.As a pretty boy from a rich home, can he find his way in the world and break free of society's chains and expectations?Story starts when Phillip joins the circus and will continue until after the end of the movie. I have a full outline ready, but this is currently updating slowly, because there's real life stuff happening.





	1. Prologue

He had signed up to join the circus. 

Why had he signed up to join the circus?

Was he out of his mind?

Or just drunk?

Well, definitely drunk. Barnum had seen to that.

Phillip Carlyle was used to alcohol, but still, having a drinking session with the ringmaster to celebrate his new position as “over-compensated apprentice”  had made his head a little fuzzy. 

Now he followed P.T. Barnum into the building that had once housed the Barnum Museum and now was home to P.T. Barnum’s Circus. They walked up a flight of stairs and finally walked onto one of the balconies. The music was playing and the house was full with an audience that had come to stare and wonder. 

Just as Phillip stepped out of the shadows, the trapeze artist who was performing her number swung towards him and for just a second their eyes met. 

She was beautiful.

No. That didn’t capture it.

She was stunning and mesmerizing and intriguing. The girl looked at him with chocolate-brown eyes from under a pink wig and Phillip felt like the world stopped turning. The lights went out, the music stopped. A second became an eternity. It only lasted for a second, but to him it felt like hours.

“Who is that?” he heard himself say when he got pulled back into the noisy reality of the circus.

Barnum stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder - a gesture that should have felt way too familiar, considering the fact that they hardly knew each other, but somehow seemed just right.

“That,” he said “is Anne Wheeler.”

“She’s amazing” Phillip stammered before biting his lips.

Barnum’s lips curled up into a smile and there was pride in his eyes when he answered.

“I know. They all are.”

Of course he must think he meant her performance and her skills. Admittedly, they deserved just as much praise as the girl herself. The way she flew through the air as if she was weightless made the audience gasp. Especially when Anne and her partner made it look as if he only caught her by a hair’s breadth. They knew how to put on a show.

Barnum knew how to capture his audience, how to hold them on a leash, surprise them anew with each act of the evening. Make them laugh, make them cry, make them shriek in horror: They were like clay in his hands. And Phillip, who hadn’t really known why he had signed up for this job and what he found intriguing about the prospect, suddenly knew that this was what he wanted to do as well, this was what he wanted to learn. Over-compensated or not, he’d be the best apprentice that this man could have dreamed of.


	2. 1) Everybody Has An Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, here comes the first proper chapter. I hope to update this at least once weekly, perhaps more often. I have an outline and 20 chapters planned for this. Enjoy!

His introduction to the group didn't go as well as it could have. P. T. might be accepted by the freaks but they didn't trust Phillip Carlyle and they showed it. There were crossed arms, sceptical stares, lifted chins - and Anne Wheeler who flat-out asked him what his act was. He explained that he didn't have an act but would be working alongside Barnum, looking after the financial side of things. She just shrugged it off and stated nonchalantly “everybody has an act” before stalking off with her brother in tow. 

Most of the other circus members also seemed to have no inclination to talk to him and were gone in the blink of an eye as was Barnum who had promised his wife to come home right after the show. There was only one person who stayed: Lettie, the bearded woman. She had been one of the first people P. T. had recruited for the show and the ringmaster had introduced her as “our greatest singer and most kind hearted, beautiful Lettie”. Phillip could see what Barnum had meant. Up close, if you ignored her facial hair, Lettie had marvellous eyes and a great smile. The beard was unfortunate, but well, it was just a beard. A beard that some men would have murdered for. Lately, fashion had undergone a change and the clean-shaven cheeks had made way for well-groomed beards. It was very possibly a reaction to the suffragette movement, as the beard stood for manliness and strength. Of course the general public must have issues with a bearded woman especially if - like Lettie - she also was black.

“Welcome to the troupe, posh boy” she said and held out her hand. He took it, kissed it and she laughed heartily, patting his back. “I like your manners. Don't mind the others. They are a bit wary of strangers. Comes with being a freak. We're not used to being treated like people by your kind. They'll accept you if they find you accept them. It's as easy as that.”

Phillip nodded. 

“They seemed almost hostile. Especially that girl… Anne?”

As if he didn't remember her name. As if that name had not been echoing through his head ever since the first moment he saw her.

She had looked at him and almost seemed disgusted. Why? He had done nothing to offend her!

Lettie sighed. 

“Nothing to do with you, posh boy. Just with people who are a lot like you: Entitled white rich boys who have too much money for their own good and use people like Anne and W. D. as if they were animals. No, that's not right. most of them treat their dogs better than the people that work for them. Anne and W. D. had a rough start in life. They are going to be the hardest to befriend of our whole lot. People like me and Tom Thumb… well we are used to being ridiculed, mocked and laughed at, sometimes spit at and called names and other times told we’re less than human. But it's a bit easier for us because we can look in the mirror and we see that we're wrong, hideous and weird. Whereas Anne… she only sees that her skin's the wrong colour. Nothing else but that.”

“I think her skin's perfect” Phillip blurted out before he could stop himself. Damn that liquor. “I mean… it matches her eyes and … it looks almost golden in the spotlight… and…” he stammered, then broke off.

Lettie chuckled.

“I'd suggest you don't tell her that. At least not today and also not tomorrow.”

She grinned and changed the subject.

“So. Why did Barnum get you?”

“He needs somebody with money and status to get him accepted in society.”

“And why did you say yes? You must be aware that this pursuit of his is futile. Society will never accept him for running a freak show.”

She sighed.

“I wish he'd be able to see this in a different light. You know the first time I met him, I was in a bath house. And I was singing while hiding behind a curtain. And suddenly Barnum barges in and rips the curtain away and I am in there stark naked and he's frightened the other women half to death and he doesn't go ‘ugh’ or retreat or shriek away. He looks me in the eye and tells me I am beautiful. nobody ever told me that before and nobody except P. T. has done it since.”

“He's right, though” Phillip said, leaning against one of the prop-staircases. 

“Boy. I have a beard.”

“And it's well-groomed and matches your hair. It would be horrible if it were red.”

They both shared a smile. 

“I made a friend,” Phillip realized. “Somehow I made a friend. And I didn't even have to buy her drinks”

“So why did you join?” Lettie repeated her earlier question. 

Phillip shrugged.

“Come on boy everybody has a reason. Take Tom, the tiny man. He's been looked down at and laughed at his whole life. In comes Barnum, puts him on a horse and into a fancy uniform and manages to get a tiny bit of respect and awe from the audience instead of pity and mockery. Everybody has a reason. Even you. Spit it out!”

Phillip sighed.

“I am a playwright. I am more or less successful. And one of the most eligible bachelors in town. My parents are rich as shit and they are very interested in maintaining the family status, very interested in me marrying the right woman and becoming my father's worthy successor to the family throne. They tolerate my profession, but they see it as a passing fancy, something that I will someday leave behind to do something better.”

He balled his fists.

“I have friends who are my friends because they are rich and rich people bang out with rich people. It’s what you do, because you need to be well connected. I date girls who are as dumb as a dormouse and as shallow as a puddle.”

He hesitated for a second, then added: “And I drink. Lots. Because that makes it easier to live.”

Lettie watched him silently for a minute or two and then put her hand on his back again.

“Guess P. T. knew what he was doing when he hired you, posh boy. I'm going to go and sleep now. And I suggest you do the same. See you tomorrow?”

Phillip nodded, realizing she didn't want to cut him off or was disinterested in his story. She just didn't want to push. And he was thankful for that. Because if she had pushed, he'd probably got his defenses up and pushed back. This way he was sure he'd be able to tell her more the next time they talked. If he wanted to. 

“Don’t worry about Anne,” Lettie added as an afterthought, before she vanished into the artists’ sleeping quarters. “She's gonna come round. It’s just gonna take a while.“


	3. 2) King of Conventional

Phillip was just about to enter the building in which he owned a small but decent flat on the fourth floor, when a familiar voice caught his ear. 

“If that isn't Carlyle! Good to see you! We already thought you were lost or had been murdered by some cheap wench.”

Phillip turned around to meet the bloodshot gaze of Edward H. Bulkeley, one of the young men he’d met at an event hosted by the famous Caroline Astor. Edward was a man who liked women, strong liquor and fashion. He had been the first of Phillip’s friends to grow a beard, the first of them to get laid - at least if you believed his own stories - and the first to lose a small fortune at a poker table. He was trouble on two legs and he was absolutely loaded right now. Phillip closed his eyes for a second wishing the guy a million miles away. Sadly, when he opened them again, he was still standing right in front of him.

“Well, as you can see, I’m still alive and well,” he said.

“And that is great,” Edward said steadying himself against the doorframe. “Listen, I had a great idea. We’re gonna have a ball.”

Phillip frowned.

“Excuse me?”   
  


“A ball, man. The party of the decade, no, the century. We’re gonna be the talk of the town. I’m gonna call it ‘The Bachelor’s Ball’ and I will invite all the eligible young men in town, everybody from the Knick, of course, but also everybody else. And of course the young ladies of fortune and also the ones who don’t have a fortune as long as they are beautiful.”

Phillip sighed again. He really wanted to just go to bed now. And any talk about beautiful heiresses seemed incredibly unimportant in the light of the fact that he’d just met the most beautiful, intriguing creature in the world and she wore a pink wig and could fly on a trapeze.

“Sorry mate, I really don’t have a head for this right now,” he said trying to squeeze past Edward. “You can tell me all about it on friday” he added, referring to their regular meetings at the Knickerbocker Club. “Weren’t you going to introduce our lot to the new guy you managed to get in? Freddy?”

Edward nodded slowly, then burped. Gods, the man was so sloshed he might throw up onto his shoes any second. Phillip glanced quickly down at his own Balmorals noticing the leather was covered in the dust from the circus floor as were the hems of his trousers. Whilst the dust made him feel good in a way he had not imagined it would, the thought of vomit on any of his clothing made him take a half step back.

“All right, Eddie, I am going to bed now. See you on friday.”   
  


He squeezed past his acquaintance and opened the door.

Eddie stared at him, swaying back and forth on his toes.

  
“You haven’t told me where you’ve been all night” he noted.

“If you’re still interested I can tell you on friday. Now, I need some sleep.”

With this, he closed the door, walked up the stairs and went to his flat without another second of hesitation. When he lay on his bed ten minutes later, watching the patterns the moonlight painted on the ceiling, he thought how weird it was that one opportunity might change a man’s priorities. He wanted to be back at the circus as soon as possible the next morning and learn everything about Barnum’s crazy business. Therefore he needed to rest.

Only twenty-four hours ago he’d probably have linked arms with Eddie and gone on a nightly spree through New York, hitting any tavern they still found open and possibly a whore-house until he’d have passed out in the early hours. The prospect of that Bachelor’s Ball would have been intriguing to him.

It wasn’t any more. In front of his mind’s eye he kept seeing Anne Wheeler’s face just as he had seen it in that very first moment. He also heard Lettie’s voice, felt P. T.’s hand on his shoulder. He had signed up for the endeavour on a whim, not even consciously questioning why he was doing it. But now, as sleep crept up to him and wrapped him into its warm, dark embrace, he realized that he had made a decision that would fundamentally affect his whole life. And it felt good because it felt real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Eddie loosely on an actual member of the Knickerbocker Club. And the ball he's talking about really took place in 1896. Balmorals (respectively Oxfords, when referring to them in the UK) are those posh leather shoes with laces, just in case anybody didn't know that.  
> Also, you might have noticed that even though this story is set in New York, I write in BE. I will keep doing so because I am much better at BE than AE and also because I have no idea on a linguistic level as to when and where the changes from BE to AE happened and if they already existed in Victorian times.  
> As I said before, I am aiming at "at least" weekly updates and I don't know why I posted three chapters in three days, it just happened. :-P  
> Let me know what you think about the story so far!


	4. 3) Never One Of Us

The next morning found Phillip Carlyle in his feet uncommonly early. His landlady who was scrubbing the stairs looked up baffled when the young man came running down and hopped onto the wooden handrails to slide past her wishing her a good day with a cheerful smile. She'd become used to him being either brooding or drunk but she'd never seen him - well: happy.

Phillip made his way down to the Barnum Circus catching a glimpse of yet another derogatory headline aimed at P. T.’s business on the front page of the morning paper. A four-horse cart almost ran him over but instead of shouting at the driver and telling him to grow a second pair of eyes if one didn't suffice, he just waved and moved on. The sun was shining, the air was mild and Phillip Bailey Carlyle was on his way to work.

“Good morning!” Lettie greeted him as he walked through the door into the huge building. “Didn't expect you before lunchtime. Barnum will he here in an hour or so. Feel free to have a wander around. Don't put your hand through the bars of the lion's cage, though. It doesn't like strangers. I'll be back in half an hour. Promised the big man to help him sew a new cushion.”

She walked off and left Phillip to his own devices. He took in the scene around him. There were props aplenty stored backstage and some of the artists were restoring the paint on one of them. He nodded and greeted them, then went inside the showroom. The air smelt a little stale but somebody had opened the windows and a slight breeze was already alleviating the situation. 

He decided to have a look at the different seating categories and whether there was anything that could easily be improved so every member of the audience could have a good view of what was going on in the ring. When he climbed the staircase to the upper levels, he heard two people come in. The male voice was new to his ear but he recognized the woman immediately even without seeing her. Taking a seat in one of the back rows he watched her and W. D. climb up to the platform they used as the starting point of their trapeze act. Without the wig, Anne was even more beautiful. Her curly brown hair framed her face perfectly and shone honey coloured in the sun rays that shone down through the open windows.  
  


“So you really want to try to do a double flip after that swing?” W. D. enquired sceptically. “Don't you think that's a bit risky?”

Anne laughed openly. 

“We're trapeze artists, brother. Everything we do is a bit risky.”

“I can't do anything if you come out of this in the wrong angle and miss my hand.”

“I won't come out of this at the wrong angle. And even if I do. It wouldn't be my first fall nor will it be my last. And you know that.”

“I just don't want you to hurt yourself.”

“That's why we are going to practice this with the safety harness before we do it in front of people. I am not mental, brother, just creative.”

“And you love the thrill” W. D. added with a sigh. 

She grinned.

“It wouldn’t be fun without the thrill.”   
“One day you’ll fall.”

“You’ll always catch me.”

“I won’t always be there.”

Silence fell. Silence in which Phillip felt like his heartbeat must be as loud as a kettle drum. He tried to breathe normally, even though his lungs demanded he take in more air. The two artists prepared the safety harnesses around their waists, then focussed. W. D. started to swing on the trapeze and Anne jumped into his arms. Back and forth, back and forth, single twist. Back and forth, back and forth, somersault. Back and forth, back and forth, backflip. Back and forth, back and forth, single twist again.

“Now” Anne said calmly as they swung back and forth again. 

Phillip held his breath when she let go a little bit earlier than before to have the time for the double flip. It wasn’t enough and even though her fingers still touched her brothers’, he couldn’t catch her and she fell, fell, fell until the safety rope caught her. 

She let out a low wail of pain as the rope around her waist tightened. The sound made Phillip’s hair stand on edge. 

“Damn,” she cursed as she pulled herself back up onto the platform. “That was close. Again!”   


“Don’t you want to take a break?” W. D. asked, worry clearly written all over his face.

“We can take a break as soon as we have managed to get this right,” she replied sternly. “Again!”

Phillip could have watched them for hours, but just as Anne fell yet again - even closer to the catch than before, Tom Thumb came up the stairs.

“Couldn’t choose any place higher up, could you?” he asked annoyed, pointing at his short legs indicating that it was Phillip’s fault and his fault alone that he’d had to go through the exhausting process of coming up here.

“Barnum’s here, wants to talk to you about the books and the show.”   


“I’m coming” Phillip said calmly.

Thumb waited for a few moments, frowning, obviously contemplating whether or not he really wanted to say the next thing he said. His gaze shifted between the young man and the two practicing artists. He bit his lip, turned around to go back down and added over his shoulder:

“Don’t even dream of it, boy. Even if you’re slummin’ it with us freaks you’ll never be one of us.”

That brought him back into reality.

It wasn’t a nice return.

When he came down the stairs his good mood had all but vanished but the open smile on Barnum’s face when he saw him, helped a little.

“Ah, there he is. My very own over-compensated apprentice. I heard Lettie already talked to you a bit yesterday. She likes you. That’s an honour, if you weren’t aware of that. She doesn’t tend to like a lot of people. So, here’s what we’ll do today: I’m going to show you the books. I am bad at calculations and even worse at keeping track of revenues and expenses. I hope you’re better than me. I’ll also talk you through the show as it is today and see whether your well-schooled brain can come up with ideas how to make it even better. You know things about how to built a story-arc, so I guess you might be helpful with this as well.”

He led the way to the small room that he used as his office. A massive oaken desk stood in the middle of the room. It was entirely buried under papers.

“Oh and Charity asked me to invite you for dinner, so cancel all your other appointments, because she’s making roast and she makes a very excellent roast - and insists on still doing it herself even though we have a cook now. I think she prides herself in having picked up all of the household duties by herself after she married an unworthy wretch like me.”

“Before he made a fortune…” Lettie chipped in from the sidelines.

“Before I made a fortune” P. T. confirmed and smiled, before closing the office door behind Phillip and himself.

“By the way, just in case you hear about a murdered theatre critic in the next few weeks: It wasn’t me” the older man said, throwing the morning paper onto the table. “That man’s a nuisance and an idiot. I think he completely forgot how to smile if he ever even knew how to do it. Damn. And we have a protester issue in front of the door. Might become nasty if we don’t get a lid on that soon.”

Phillip nodded, trying to push away the echo of Tom Thumbs voice that still told him he didn’t belong.

“Why are they protesting?” he asked.

Barnum threw his hands up in exasperation. 

“Why is the ocean blue? I don’t know. I guess they are scared? Or stupid? Or bored? Or all three? Envious of the success? Religiously befuddled? Boy, if I knew what exactly their problem is, I could talk to them. But you can’t have an argument with these people. You can’t have a proper discussion. They’re just an angry mob and they don’t want to talk. They just want to make trouble.”

He shook his head.

“First things first. The books. I am sorry, I am really an exceptionally bad accountant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I need to stop writing this like a madwoman...


	5. 4) A Million Dreams

Phineas and Phil arrived at the Barnum house just before six in the evening. It was a wednesday and there were usually no shows at the circus on wednesdays. 

A blonde, beautiful woman opened the door and smiled at the arrivals.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, exchanging a glance with her husband that felt incredibly intimate and made Phillip scuff his feet. He was pretty sure his parents had never looked at each other this way. 

“Yes, here we are. On time for a change. I brought Mr Carlyle, just as you requested. Phillip, this is my wife, Charity.”

Phillip placed a quick kiss on the offered hand and smiled.

“Nice to meet you Mrs Barnum and thank you for the invitation.”

“The pleasure is all mine. When Phineas told me he’d talked the famous playwright Phillip Carlyle into working for him, I assumed he was either joking or imagining things. But he insisted you had actually said yes.”   


“Well I did. I don’t know quite why I did that yet, but I signed up to be his partner…”

P. T. coughed: “Over-compensated apprentice.”

“... and I am looking forward to learning all there is to learn. I already learnt that your husband is an even worse accountant than he believes himself to be. It took me the whole day to get some structure into the books.”

Charity chuckled.

“Oh, I think you’ll get along well, you two” she commented and led them into the house.

Phillip had grown up in splendour. His family was old money, they owned huge estates in the countryside and the house he had grown up in was big enough you didn’t have to meet the other people who dwelled in it apart from at mealtimes. The house Barnum had bought for his family was a little smaller than the Carlyle mansion, but it was homely and looked very occupied. A toy pony lay in the hallway. Phillip picked it up before Charity could do so. Two seconds later, something - someone - shot down the stairs and clung to his leg.

“You found Mr Pony!” the girl exclaimed. 

Phillip knelt down to meet her eye and held out the stuffed toy.

“Yes I found him. He was lying down though. That’s not a good sign, you know. Horses usually don’t lie down unless they are ill.”

“Oh” the girl said, looking concerned. “Do you think Mr Pony might be ill.”

“I am not an expert in horse-medicine. I only know a little bit about humans and that’s just what I picked up from a friend when I was doing research for a play.”   


The girl nodded gravely.

“We could feed him. If he eats normally, Mr Pony should be all right” Phillip suggested and his new acquaintance nodded again. Then she held out her hand.

“I am Helen. Who are you?”

Phillip shook the tiny hand carefully, smiling widely. 

“I’m Phillip. I work with your father.”   


She frowned.

“Are you part of the circus? I have never seen you at the circus. And you don’t look funny. Can you fly then, like Anne and W. D.?”

He shook his head.

“Your father wanted somebody to help him organize the circus. It’s become quite a big business and somebody has to do the maths so we don’t lose money.”

The girl bit her lip, then took his hand again and started pulling him towards where Phineas and Charity had vanished through a door which Phillip assumed led to the dining room.

“I like maths,” she said on the way. “Caroline doesn’t like it much. But Caroline will be a ballerina someday and ballerinas don’t need to know how to count and do calculations. Have you met Caroline?”

Two minutes later, he was introduced to Caroline, Helen’s older sister. She was just as cute as her younger sibling, but tried to give off an air of restraint and poise as she wobbled into the room on her pointe shoes.

“She’s not even supposed to have them yet,” Charity whispered under her breath. “The instructor told me, it’s important she builds some strength in her ankles at first. but she was so adamant and she’s been pestering us for weeks on end until I bought her some. She’s only allowed to wear them half an hour each day and not stand on the toes too much, but she keeps wearing them to dinner so she can keep them on for longer.”

The girl had been oblivious that anyone but her family was in the room. When her father introduced their guest, her head shot up and her eyes met Phillip’s suddenly widening.

“Good evening,” she squeaked on cue and quickly sat down on her chair without another word.

Charity and Phineas exchanged a glance and both raised a questioning brow at their older daughter’s behaviour. Caroline stayed almost mute throughout the excellent dinner whilst Helen hardly ever shut up for more than twenty seconds and kept Phillip entertained with stories of her endeavours. She loved the circus, that much became clear very quickly. She admired Anne and was heartbroken that her parents didn’t allow her to try swinging on the trapeze yet. 

“They say, when I am eight, they’ll let me. They just don’t understand that the earlier you start, the better you get.”

Phillip’s heart was almost bursting with happiness. This family was so different from what he knew a family to be like. Phineas and Charity communicated wordlessly almost non-stop and there was such familiarity and such love in their eyes when they looked at each other, it was almost palpable. The girls were allowed to be girls, allowed to be loud and childish and funny, doted on by both of the adults. Yet, they knew that there were rules and they followed them without discussion. When Charity announced it was time for bed, they got up immediately. 

“Mum, can Phillip read us our bedtime story?” Helen begged. 

“You’ll have to ask Phillip if he wants to do that” Charity replied with a shrug. 

Of course he wanted to do that! Anything that prolonged his stay in this beautiful world where kindness was king was a welcome task! When Charity showed him up to the girl’s bedroom, everything in him wanted to ask her whether he could just stay and live with all of them. 

But there was a small voice echoing in the back of his head: “You’ll never be one of us.”

He’d never be one of the troupe.

He’d never be part of this family.

He was on his own.

But it was nice to pretend sometimes.

He sat down on a chair next to Helen’s bed. Caroline was watching him from under her sheets. Only her nose and eyes poked out and he wondered if she was afraid of him.

“So what are we going to read tonight?” he enquired and was surprised when the answer didn’t come from Helen but her older sister:

“Iron Henry, please” she murmured and pulled her sheets even further up. “It’s my favourite.”   


So he took the big volume by the Grimm brothers that rested on the bedside table and started to read the story. It didn’t take long until Helen drifted off into sleep, but Caroline stayed awake until he had finished the last sentence, watching him intently.

“Thank you” she said quietly when he was done. “I like listening to your voice. It sounds nice.”

He smiled, realizing that her shyness might not after all have been founded in dislike.

“Will you come over more often now?” she asked, as he stood up and made his way to the door.

Phillip closed his eyes for a second.

“I hope so” he answered truthfully. “I really hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that Phillip seems to be such a battered and bashed soul in everyone's head including mine. Added a tag for emotional abuse, because I believe his parents treated him in a way that deserves that tag. Also: I can promise you that the next chapter will have Phillip and Anne finally getting to know each other better (and first-sight-infatuation becoming much much more than that).


	6. 5) Fly With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that my Phillip is turning out much more broken than I thought and I had to add "suicidal thoughts" to the tags. It's a mention and it's definitely in the past, but it's a part of what his character is like for me.

The rest of the week flew by in a blur. Mostly a blur of numbers, as Phillip worked his way through Barnum’s books. It was an annoying task, but he was glad when on friday night he could finally look up from the desk and see that there was no more cluttered paperwork flying about the room and he closed the ledger that he’d been writing in with a satisfied thump. He got up and walked out of the office, taking his now customary detour through the audience ranks instead of heading straight to the main entrance to go home.

It was already quite late and most of the artists had turned in, but to his delight, Anne was practicing a new solo routine. For a few minutes he watched as she climbed up a rope and swung back and forth. It always looked so effortless when she did this, but he could see the muscles in her back work and he knew it was a strenuous activity. 

She noticed him and came sliding down the rope with a quizzical look on her face.

“What are you still doing here this time of night, posh boy?” she asked.

While most of the other artists had adapted to his presence quickly and accepted him as a part of the team, Tom Thumb and the Wheelers were still openly hostile towards him. A fact that hurt him more than he wanted to admit.

“I’ve finished organizing the chaos that P. T. called his ‘books’. Let’s just say I’m glad it’s done.”   


She laughed and for the first time he felt like she dropped her guards in front of him as her eyes sparked.

“He’s got big ideas and bigger dreams” she said. “But he’s not half as much of a businessman as he’d like to be.”

She walked over to where Phillip was leaning against the railing.

“So what are you up to now?” she asked. “Apart from creepily stalking me while I practice.”

Phillip thought about the Knickerbocker Club, his usual retreat on a friday night. But he had no inclination to meet Eddie and the others and listen to their nonsensical debates. His eyes wandered from Anne to the rope she was still holding in her hand and her question from earlier this week echoed in his head. ‘What’s your act?’

He grinned and with a quick movement swung himself into the ring.

“Teach me!” he said, pointing to the ropes. “I feel like I am the only idiot in this building who doesn’t know what his act is, so I’d better start finding out. I’ll very probably be terrifyingly bad though. I have watched you and W. D.”

Anne stared at him with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement on her face.

“You want me to teach you the ropes?”

Phillip laughed, his head swimming with the prospect of danger and excitement.

“I’d be happy if you’d consent to show me how to do this” he said. 

In a soberer tone, he added: “I feel like there are a million chains in my life and I’d love to be able to pretend for a minute that I can fly.”   


She grinned.

“You’re full of surprises, Mr Carlyle.”

He noticed that she hadn’t called him ‘posh boy’ this time. A small victory.

“All right” she said. “Get your fancy jacket off and attach this safety rope to your belt. I don’t want to explain to Barnum that you broke your neck in an attempt at doing a backflip.”

She explained the general rules to him and then took him up onto the platform her and W. D. used as their starting point when doing trapeze work.

“Trapeze is quite advanced” she said. “I am not going to teach you that today. I just want you to look down and get a feeling for the height.”

Phillip looked down and regretted it immediately. 

“Jesus” he exclaimed, reaching for the handrails, trying to steady his wobbly knees. “And you jump off this thing every day?”

“You’re going to jump off this thing in a minute” Anne said stoically, but her eyes betrayed that she was a little worried about whether she was asking too much. “How bad is your fear of heights?”

Phillip took a deep breath and looked down again. He knew how high up the platform was. 

‘It’s not even ten meters’ he told himself. ‘You’ve been standing on bridges twice as high and contemplated jumping off. It’s not a big deal. You have a safety harnes.’

It helped a little and his breathing became steadier. Then he looked at Anne, who was still watching him expectantly. The hostility had vanished. 

‘She likes this’ he thought by himself. ‘She appreciates that I volunteered to learn this, to get acquainted with the artist’s side of the show.’

“How did you end up a trapeze-artist?” he asked while he still waited for his pulse to slow down and wondered how much of it’s rushing was still because of the height and how much was because he had suddenly become aware how close he was to the woman. The platform was only big enough for two people to stand on. If he shifted even an inch, he’d touch her perfect dark skin.

Anne double checked the knots on the safety rope while she answered.

“I was always good at climbing things. I was also good at running. I’d run and jump at a branch and pull myself up into a tree to hide. When I got older, I had an - employer - who let me perform for his friends and acquaintances after he found out what I could do. W. D. picked it up from me and we did a double-act.”

She bit her lip as if contemplating if she should tell him more. 

“P. T. found us after we had moved to the city and were making a living by doing these things on the street. Our contraptions weren’t half as good as this. Not half as safe. You can’t really hurt yourself when trying things here. The safety rope will hurt a bit when it catches you, but that’s it” she rubbed her ribs where she probably still had bruises from her failed attempt at the double-flip. “No chance of breaking your neck.”

Her eyes focussed on Phillip’s and he felt as if she was looking straight into his heart.

“So. Are you ready, Mr Carlyle?”

He gulped and nodded. A second later, his brain registered a slender arm around his waist, before he was pulled to the front and off the platform, falling, falling, until the fall was broken. Anne held on to him with one arm securing him with a firm grip. He quickly put his hands around the rope as well, so she didn’t have to support his weight for longer than necessary.

“Wow” he said as she started to sway, bringing the rope in motion. 

“Next time you’ll have to do this on your own” she said. “Just make sure you hold the rope tight. I’d recommend you wear gloves so your soft writer’s hands won’t suffer too much.”

It could have been another pointed remark, but she softened the blow by smiling at him widely.

She showed him a few easy moves he could do on the rope, before his arms grew tired and he had to slide down to the floor to avoid his strength giving out and letting him plunge down unceremoniously. He was panting and felt he’d probably be sore the whole weekend. 

“That was great” he said to Anne who gracefully landed next to him. “Thank you for showing me.”

“You’re not a bad student” she replied. “If you want to, I can teach you how to do this properly. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. You’re much better at this than I’d have expected from a rich boy.”

They leaned against the railing in companionable silence, before Phillip spoke again.

“Please don’t hold my family ties against me, Miss Wheeler. None of us chooses which life we are born into. I might be the heir to a considerable fortune, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a tyrant like my father.”

He looked down at the dust that had settled on his shoes and trousers. 

Anne nudged him in the side with her elbow.

“Well, if it helps, I never put you down as a tyrant, Mr Carlyle. I assumed you were an arrogant prick and a bored rich boy in search of a bit of an adventure to dabble in.”

He sighed.

“Do you still think that? That this is just a distraction for me?”   


She shrugged.

“I’d like to believe you’re in this for good. The fact that you actually stuck to the tedious task of getting P. T.’s books in order is much in your favour.” 

“I’ll never let that man do any accounting ever again” Phillip groaned. “That was a disaster!”

Anne chuckled.

“That’d mean you’ll have to do it from now on.”

He nodded gravely, then smiled.

“Were you in earnest about teaching me?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“You’ve got a bit of talent. And you pick up things quickly. I like that. I don’t like to explain stuff more than once. It’d be good to have someone as a backup in case W. D. or I can’t do a show.”

She seemed to think for a bit.

“You’d only be our last resort, of course and we’d not announce you under your real name. I understand that it’s one thing to be involved with the financial side of things at the circus and quite another to actually have an act.”

Phillip knew she was right. He knew his parents would not be happy to find out he had signed up with Barnum. And they’d never accept if he actually was part of a number. But he didn’t want to think about it right now. Right now, he wanted to prolong this moment, in which Anne Wheeler and him were on the same level and could see eye to eye. 

“Well” he smiled. “A wise woman once told me: Everybody has an act.”

She laughed. 

“I’m sorry I was so rude to you when you first showed up” she said. “I - I haven’t met many rich boys who were nice. Most of the ones I met didn’t even treat W. D. and me like people. But you seem… different.”   


“Why wouldn’t they treat you like people?” Phillip asked sheepishly. “You’re not freaks or anything.”

She shook her head and held her hand up in front of his face.

“We’re black, Mr Carlyle. I’m a black woman. That makes me lesser than any white woman out there. Less valuable. Less honourable.”

Had he ever thought of dark-skinned people like that? Philipp didn’t think so. He hadn’t met many of them yet, though. And he knew that some of his friends used derogatory terms when referring to them. The thought of Eddie or any of the other men being mean to Anne made his hair stand up. Nobody would ever be mean to Anne without paying for it. He’d make sure of that.

“I think you’re a very honourable and beautiful woman, Anne” he said. “And you’re damn strong. I probably won’t be able to lift my arms an inch in the next few days.”

It was good to see she still laughed about his jokes. Her laugh was open, contagious. It made her eyes spark and lit up her face. Her beautiful face that would haunt his dreams forever. Oh how he wanted to kiss her! 

"I’ll bid you goodnight now” he said calmly and took a step away from her, bowing slightly. “Thank you again for showing me the ropes. I’d be honoured to become your student. Also…”, he added as an afterthought. 

She waited for him to continue, as it took him a few heartbeats to arrange his thoughts.

“... would you call me Phillip? I feel like the name of Carlyle is what made you despise me in the beginning and I’d rather not remind you of the fact that my father is a wealthy landowner. I… I’d also rather not remind myself of that fact.”

Her surprise about the last statement was evident, but she didn’t ask him to elaborate what it meant. Later-on, he’d find out that Anne hardly ever demanded information. She expected people to provide it freely if they deemed it important for her to have it. And as Anne was an excellent listener, people seemed to unload their tragedies onto her shoulders almost constantly. Phillip Carlyle wouldn’t be an exception from that rule.

“Good night, Phillip” she said and brushed her hands against his forearm as if by accident. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he walked back towards his flat, he flicked open his pocket watch. It was way past midnight. He had missed the meeting at the Knick and his ams and back ached from the exhaustion, but he felt like he was flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you there'd be Anne and Phillip being adorable. Also: I wondered how he was able to do the stuff in "Rewrite the Stars" without having done any of it before anywhere in the movie, so I decided this scene here was how it happened.


	7. 6) Hands are tied

A few days later, Charity and the kids visited the circus. Helen and Caroline were both bubbly and happy and chatted with everyone but the older girl fell silent the second she saw Phillip who was talking Fyodor - the young man had no idea why everybody kept spelling and pronouncing his name wrong, it was really not that difficult - through his number as Jo-Jo the dog-faced boy. 

“So what’s the story that we are telling about you?” Phillip enquired and hugged Helen who threw herself at his legs with all the ferocity she could muster, making him take a sidestep. “I guess Barnum made something up and if it’s as bad as the other stories I have heard from the artists, I will need a drink before lunchtime. - Good morning Helen! Good morning Caroline! I hear you have a dance performance tonight? Will you tell me all about it as soon as I am finished here?”

She blushed a deep red and scuffed her feet in embarrassment, but nodded. As soon as Helen and her had vanished again, he focussed back on Fyodor. The Russian was surprisingly fluent in English. His accent was a little funny, of course but so was that of pretty much everyone who shared his nationality. He might look wild and a little intimidating with all that hair on his face and body, but he was well-read and had a kind of witty humour that Phillip had come to appreciate.

“P. T. always tells this story” Fyodor explained. “A hunter in Kostroma tracked me and my father Adrian to our cave and captured us there. We were both savage like wild animals and my father could not be taught the human ways whereas I could learn a bit, because I was caught so young. He says I bark and growl when I am upset - I have to do that in the show, because people like it - and always stresses how very much I resemble a dog.”

Phillip sighed. He needed a drink. Or two. Or three. This whole show, pretty much every single act was built upon lies. They weren’t even good lies. They were bad, horrible lies. Why couldn’t Barnum show the uniqueness of mankind in all its strangest forms without relying on cheap fairy tales? Most of the people he had spoken to had marvellous stories to tell, true stories that spoke of wit and braveness. Why did Barnum have to belittle them in the ring, make them look like fools in front of the audience, when he accepted them as human beings backstage?

“Oh dear God!” Phillip exclaimed. “And what’s your true story?”

Fyodor shrugged.

“My father was like me. That much is true. He also had hair. Everywhere. He performed in french circuses and when I was old enough he took me all around the world, so I saw many countries and could learn German and English so I could talk to people in Europe. It was good. Then my father died and I was left to my own devices. Barnum found me and took me in and this place” he made a gesture that encompassed the ring and the surrounding building “it has become my home. The other artists they are my family. I like being here. Barnum is not a bad employer. He pays us proper wages. He treats us well. He talks to us like we are people, not scum or animals. I don’t care that he tells a lie every night I perform as long as he doesn’t tell it to himself in his head and starts treating me like a dog.”   


Phillip cursed under his breath, then clapped his hand onto the shoulder of the hairy man.

“If I ever get a say in this, a proper say, you won’t be treated like a dog by anyone, in the ring or out of it” he said. “As it is, Barnum gave me some leeway to shape up the show. You say, you’re fluent in Russian, German and English?”

Fyodor nodded and Phillip grinned.

“Instead of just growling and barking like a dog, I want you to show us the transformation that Barnum invented. Is there any poet you like? Any play you know a few lines by heart from? I don’t care which one it is, but tomorrow, I want you to end the show not as a savage beast but as a well-read gentleman - who is just by accident a little hairier than everybody else. It will leave them with their jaws hanging open.”

Fyodor stared at him, puzzled.

“Are you serious, Sir?”   


“I’m totally serious and I’m Phillip, you can drop the Sir. You’ll see how well your bit will fit in with the revised story Barnum’s going to tell. It’s going to be the greatest show this house has seen.”

 

He made his way back to the ranks where Caroline and Helen were waiting, silencing the voice in his head that was demanding he go out right now and get his hands on a bottle of cheap whiskey until he could think straight again. As if alcohol had ever helped any man to think straight! He had realized that he might have a problem after a few days working for Barnum. Not having a steady supply of liquor at the ready had made him feel anxious and uncomfortable. He had even noticed his hands trembling a few times when the urge became too great. He had had a drink or two, but the craving had just become worse afterwards. Phillip wasn’t a drunkard. He was just used to drinking in society. All the time. And he had never realized the amounts of alcohol that he’d put away on a daily basis.

“Phillip!” Helen beamed. “Daddy says you’re changing the show. Will there be elephants and little dogs?”

He laughed.

“Little dogs can be arranged, little lady, but elephants are a little hard to come by in this part of the world. We’d have to get one from overseas and at the moment we don’t quite have the money to afford the transport.”

Helen nodded gravely.

“But little dogs?” she asked again. 

Phillip smiled. “If you think that little dogs would improve the show, I’ll make sure I get you some.”

He turned towards Caroline.

“So, little ballerina. You’re dancing tonight I’ve been told?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Are you excited?”

She nodded again.

“I’m nervous” she said. “Because with dancing, it’s all hard work and practice. You can’t just play pretend and fool people like daddy does.”   


Phillip frowned.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged.

“Well, he tells stories that aren’t true. Like, look at the giant. He’s not that tall. He wears shoes with extra-thick soles and there are lighting tricks that make him look taller.”

Phillip sighed. He had learned more in the last few days than he had ever wanted to learn about the artists in the circus. Barnum either exaggerated massively or came up with illustrious stories that had no foundation in reality. Caroline was right. The whole circus was a farce. Well, not the whole circus, of course. The artistry was real. 

“How about the fire-breathing man?” he asked the girl. “He has to work hard on every trick he does.”   


Caroline nodded slowly.

“And the jugglers? The tightrope walkers? The trapeze artists? And Lettie works hard on her voice so she can sing the way she does” Phillip went on. “You see, it’s not all humbug. There’s something real underneath as well.”   


She smiled, looking relieved.

“She gets bullied” Helen stated. “The other girls always tell her she doesn’t belong because we are circus people.”

Damn. Phillip bit his lip. A kingdom for a glass of scotch! No! Scotch didn’t solve any problems. It just made them look less intimidating.

“Come on” he said, holding out his hand. “I will have to fill in for your father tonight, as he’s going to watch the ballet. Would you humour me and show me your part, so I don’t have to feel left out?”

She grinned shily and nodded, then ran over to Charity to get her ballet shoes which she never left at home these days. She showed Phillip the parts she danced and explained what the other girls in the group would do. 

“Here’s a part” she said finally, “that I can’t show you. It’s a duet and two of the older children dance it. It’s really beautiful. There are a lot of lifts and pirouettes.”

“Do you know how it goes?” Phillip enquired.

She nodded. Of course. She knew every single movement by heart.

“Well then, as the older children aren’t here, you will have to dance the girl’s part and explain to me what I have to do for the lifts and things.”

Caroline stared at him. Her lip trembled. Oh Gods! Had he done something wrong? Was she about to cry? He needn’t have worried because in the next second the brightest smile he’d ever seen appeared on her face and she began directing him through the scene. 

It was not an easy number. Even if he had no idea about the dancing steps and largely just walked from one position to the next, he was out of breath soon. There was a huge amount of lifts and Caroline might be small and lightweight, but his arm muscles were still weary from the trapeze practice and began to ache soon. She was the happiest child on the planet though and had finally forgotten her timidity around him. That was worth all the pain in the world.

 

Anne watched the goings-on from the ranks. She smiled as Caroline shrieked with delight as Phillip lifted her up yet again. He was such a kind-hearted man. Not at all the arrogant prick she had put him down as at first. She had watched him speak to the actors and had heard about some of the changes he wanted to introduce into the show. She didn’t dislike Barnum but Phillip’s sheer disgust at some of the stories the older man had constructed around his freaks had been interesting to witness. He seemed to have much more respect for the artists than P. T. had. Which was interesting considering the fact that he’d been brought up as a spoiled, rich boy and Barnum came from a simple background. W. D. had approached her without a sound and she almost cried out when he appeared next to her. Her brother followed her gaze and watched Phillip and Caroline’s dance for a bit. He sighed.

“Be careful with this man, sister” he stated. “He might be charmin’, but he’s not for you.”

 

Opposite her, Charity and Barnum were also watching the scene:

  
“He looks so much happier now. than when he first came here” Charity observed. “And he’s doing a great job with the girls.”

Barnum scowled.

“Making the boy happy was never my intention.”

Charity leaned against him and put her arm around his waist. 

“What was your intention then, darling?”

“Making money,” he answered honestly.

“Well he’s good at doing that, too, isn’t he.”

“Exceptionally so.”

For a while they watched in silence, then Charity spoke up again.

“You like him."

P. T. frowned not willing to admit anything. 

“He’s not a bad apprentice” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has read and commented "His Act" so far. I am sorry this update took a little longer. I hit a traffic-sign with my bike last week and that knocked me out for a few days as they thought I might have a concussion (I didn't) and I wasn't allowed to read or watch TV or do anything strenuous to the eyes for a couple of days and felt like hell, because I had bruises all over my body. There were also family things to attend to this weekend, but yay, I am back now.
> 
> Because somebody asked about this earlier on: I am taking some liberties as to the year I set this story in. It should be around 1850 according to actual history. The movie condensed quite a few years into a much smaller timeframe though and also only let the building burn down once instead of twice. Oh, and they invented Phillip and made Tom much older than he was... 
> 
> Well, you see, as the movie wasn't exactly historically accurate, I thought I might get away with setting this in 1895, which means I actually know a bit more what I am talking about (because between 1890 and 1910 is where I feel most at home - even though I still know much more about Britain at that time than I will ever know about the US) while the Queen Victoria visit still works fine. You can look forward to that (and lots of Phillip/Anne fluff), by the way.
> 
> I hope P. T. doesn't come across as too much of an ass in this, but you have to admit that before the house burned down, his appreciation of the artists was... well... negligible to non-existant in the movie as well. Don't even get me started on the horrible stuff he did in real life. I am excluding any reference to the "connection between man and ape" and the Aztec twins here, because these two stories struck me as exceptionally cruel.


	8. 7) Things from Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in updating this. I had a bike accident and then I got kind of caught up in the writing of my book. I hope you're still with me. Lots of fluff to come!

Queen Victoria had heard about the Barnum Circus. Obviously word travelled fast these days. Especially when the tabloids were full of - partly extremely negative - reviews about the show. 

The Queen was known to be interested in all kinds of human oddities, especially in tiny people. It was hardly surprising her invitation had encompassed Barnum’s family and Tom Thumb in the beginning. A discussion had started among the circus performers though which had forced P. T. to write to her majesty and inform her that he’d be coming with the whole troupe in tow or not at all. It had been a peculiar moment to witness. After all, it was risky to go against the Queen’s express wishes and it could well have ended with another letter arriving to tell them that Victoria had no inclination to see them after all. 

Instead, the dreaded letter included ferry tickets for all of them. The only thing that vexed Phillip greatly was that Barnum’s family and he got accomodations in second class while the artists only got bunks in steerage. He heard some of them mutter behind his back and saw the glances that W. D. and Tom Thumb gave him and suddenly he knew what he had to do. On the morning of their departure, he walked over to the box office in plain view of all the circus freaks and exchanged his ticket for a bunk in third class. He’d have preferred to just hand his ticket to Anne, but he knew there was no way she would or could accept such a generous offer. So he had done the next best thing. The result was some people cheering and others shaking their heads in incomprehension. But Tom Thumb offered him a genuine smile and that counted for something after all.

 

The journey from America to England would take them ten days and it would take another two days to travel down to London from Liverpool. It turned out that Tom and W. D. both didn’t take well to the sea and they spent most of their time on deck at the side of the ship that the wind did not come from and fed the fish with cruel regularity for the first 48 hours of the trip.

 

Lettie’s appearance scared some of the ship’s crew. Whilst the old belief that women aboard a ship meant bad luck had slowly vanished from people’s minds with the appearance of the cruise ships, a woman with a beard was still too close to a fairy tale figure for some of the men and they were very uneasy around her. On the second morning, Phillip witnessed an exchange between her and the first mate though, which looked anything but problematic. They both laughed heartily and the burly fellow even clapped his hand on the woman’s shoulder. 

 

“I think Lettie’s got an admirer” Anne said next to him, making him jump.

 

“Damn!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t hear you coming!”   
  


She grinned and looked down. As he followed her gaze he realized she was barefoot.

 

“I asked the captain if I could go up the rigging. He was a bit reluctant at first, but when I told him what my profession is, he agreed to let me have a look from the crow’s nest.”

 

She waited for a few seconds and when Phillip didn’t reply, she nudged him into the side with her elbow.

 

“Care to join me, posh boy?”

 

He stared at her for a few moments, before the pieces of the puzzle in his head fell into place and his smile grew wide. She had asked him to climb the rigging with her and look out from the crow’s nest. That meant they’d be alone, just the two of them, for the first time since their very first practice session. Ever since Phillip had agreed to learn the ropes, W. D. had been at his side to assist when necessary, a move that he appreciated on one hand, because it meant less injuries and a steeper learning curve, but which he despised on the other hand, because it also meant less time to talk to Anne without anybody overhearing them.

 

“I’m coming” he said, kicking off his shoes with a little too much enthusiasm that almost had one of them skidding overboard.

 

“Careful” Anne said. “You’ll need the expensive shoes for the audience.”

 

They walked over to the rigging and started climbing the network of thick ropes. It was almost as easy as climbing a ladder, if you had a ladder that swung precariously in the wind. Phillip was glad he had learned to control his fear of heights, so he didn’t lose his calm, even though this was much higher up than the platform in the circus. 

 

As they finally scrambled into the crow’s nest both of them were breathing heavily.

 

“That was more exhausting than I had expected” Anne noted. “But… oh my God, it was so worth it!”

 

Phillip followed her gaze and immediately understood what she meant. From where they were standing they could see only water. Dark blue water that stretched into all directions, blurring with the sky at the horizon. As the sun slowly crept towards the east and prepared to set, the sea turned to gold.

 

“It’s beautiful” Phillip whispered. 

 

“It’s amazing” she agreed.

 

They stood there for a while, enraptured by the sight and reluctant to rejoin the others on deck. Up here, it didn’t matter that Phillip was a posh boy who’d one day inherit a fortune and that Anne was a trapeze artist whose skin colour would always keep them further apart than any difference in social rank could do. Up here, they were just two people, two ordinary little humans in the great universe.

 

Phillip was acutely aware of how close Anne was standing to him and how beautiful she was. Oh how he longed to touch her, to take her hand and kiss her and tell her how she made his heart beat quicker any time he saw her. How her laugh was the most dazzling sound in the world to him and how he had come to admire her strength and devotion in the many hours they had spent practicing together. But he didn’t dare do any of it but when a breeze blew a lock of her hair across her eyes, he had pushed it back behind her ear with his fingertips before he could stop himself. For a brief moment her eyes met and thought that he saw the same longing that he felt, the same yearning that filled his heart, in her features as well. But he couldn’t be sure. 

 

Only seconds later, somebody called up to them that it was time to get back down, before they would fall to their deaths when the night fell.


	9. Her Majesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update. I can't promise I'll be any quicker in the next few weeks, because my book is definitely the priority right now. But don't believe for a single second that this is abandoned. It's not. It's plotted and it's going to be updated, albeit not very regularly.

They were meeting the Queen. It was surreal. But it was happening. 

As they waited to be let in for the audience with Her Majesty, Philipp remembered his last visit to his parents when he finally told them about the circus. Their reaction was less than happy. They had literally squirmed in their seats. But his father had finally come to the conclusion that “managing it doesn’t mean you’re now one of the freaks”. Philipp let his eyes trail over the artists. Some of them would probably have agreed with his father. They still saw him as the posh boy, the outsider, the guy that Barnum had lured into the game to provide money for the endeavour - and to keep an eye on the money that was already there.

But in the last weeks, things had changed. As he had learned about their individual stories and worked to incorporate them into the show, they had started to trust him. Now, in the evenings after the shows, they asked him to stay and have a drink with them. He usually refused the drink but stayed nonetheless. It was much easier to stay away from the booze if he didn’t so much as touch it. In the beginning the craving had almost driven him mad but nowadays he could handle it.

His eyes lingered on Anne’s slender form and he wondered what his parents would have to say about her and about the strong attachment that had begun to form between them. His father would probably burst a blood vessel, if he ever found out. Lusting after her would have been permissible, even keeping her as his mistress would have been. But loving her, the way he almost didn’t dare to admit he did, was definitely out of the question. 

“All right, that’s it folks, we’re goin in!” Barnum announced and the troupe turned into a group of headless chickens for a minute or two. 

After all, you didn’t meet the Queen every day.

She was tiny and round. A rather stout woman on a throne that seemed ready to devour her any second. She wore black, never had worn anything else since her husband had died. The tabloids said she was still in mourning, still grieved his absence and found solace in food. Looking at her, Philipp had to admit they were probably right.

The audience didn’t last long. She exchanged a few words with Barnum, then mainly chatted with Tom. Her obsession with little people had also made the papers before. Perhaps she was intrigued by them because they were even tinier than her.

After the introduction, P. T. and Philipp were standing on the sidelines amongst other spectators and members of aristocracy when the door was opened again and the name “Jenny Lind” was announced.

A woman floated into the hall. Slender, porcelain-skinned and almost elfishly eerie with her long red-blonde hair, she never looked right or left but focussed onto the throne. She accepted the Queen’s compliments with a modest curtsy then set out to find a space in the crowded room.

  
“Who is she?” Philipp heard a whisper, an echo of his own voice in his head, the same awestruck admiration woven through the words that he had felt for Anne that very first time he saw her perform.

He turned his head to see P. T.’s eyes fixed on the singer. Barnum looked as if he was in a trance.

“Jenny Lind,” Philipp replied. “She’s a famous singer.”

“You know her?”   
“Everybody does.”   
“Introduce us!”   


And Philipp did even though he wasn’t familiar with the woman himself, had just heard of her. Pushed forward by his mentor he stumbled through a half-assed introduction before witnessing Barnum openly flirt with the singer, inviting her to America so she could become world-famous. 

What was going on with this man? Miss Lind was supposed to be a magnificent singer but neither him nor Philipp had ever heard her perform. He even admitted that he hadn’t but still wanted her to perform in New York. Philipp did the calculations in his head. This meant risking it all! Was Barnum going mad now?

Only a little bit later he realized what was really going on. Barnum had tasted the good life, he’d been courted by nobility, treated like a man of status, spoken to by some old money gentlemen. He thrived in these surroundings, wanting to fit in, desperately wanting to be a part of this society. Philipp had seen the downsides of the upper class life. The boredom, the fatigue, the fake smiles and the dozens of girls who only pretended they liked him because they knew he’d provide a luscious lifestyle for them. 

P. T. came from nothing though and he thrived to be more than he was, become more than he had been born as. It was worrying to see this eagerness, this greed on display. Especially when Barnum tried to exclude his artists from the evening’s entertainment. He disappointed them all that night. One by one and he didn’t even notice.

Philipp had long vanished from Barnum’s side and stood with the performers. The whole display Phineas was putting on was sickening.

“If this works out,” Lettie murmured next to him, “he’s gonna leave us and never look back.”

Even though it sounded bleak, Philipp had to admit she was making a valid point.

“I’m not,” he said calmly. “He might leave you hanging, but I won’t.”


	10. Never Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... it's been ages. Hello. I am still alive and this is still not abandoned. It's just on the backburner as long as I am working on the novel. Also, sorry not sorry for emotionally torturing Philipp in this chapter.

One thing was for certain.

Jenny Lind could sing.

Not only that.

She could perform.

She was eerie and aloof, seemed to be untouchable.

And her voice made the picture perfect.

It was otherworldly.

Brilliant, clear and mesmerizing.

From the first note on, the audience was hers. 

 

As was P. T. who stood in the shadows beside the stage.

Philipp saw what hardly anyone else did. 

He saw the spark in his friend’s eyes when he fell for Jenny Lind.

P.T. Barnum, loving husband and father, lost at a moment’s notice, captured by a single phrase of music.

 

Philipp saw it happen and there was nothing, nothing at all, he could have done to prevent it. 

He just hoped Charity was sitting somewhere in the audience where she couldn’t see her husband, couldn’t notice his reaction to Jenny Lind’s song.

 

The music grew from one small thread into an intricate web of sound as Lind declared that the light of a thousand spotlights would never be enough without her “darling”. 

His heart pounded as he became aware of Anne’s presence beside him. She seemed to emanate warmth that seeped through his dinner jacket and shirt. 

 

Gods how true the song was!

He might be a rich man some day.

But all these riches meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

His hand moved as if it had a will of its own.

His fingers reached out, searching.

 

When they finally touched Anne’s, she didn’t pull away.

He thought he even detected a small smile on her face.

As their fingers interlaced, she let out an audible breath.

As if she’d been waiting.

Yearning.

Dreaming.

Just as much as Philipp had.

 

They had grown closer throughout their journey to England. How could they now have! The ship was too small to keep them apart for any prolonged time. And so they had started to talk. He had told her about his childhood, about his father, the problems they had.

She had told him about how she’d become an artist, about how it had been her way out of a life in poverty and despair. How it allowed her to be her own master, to set her own boundaries and goals. He’d seen her strength before. Now that he knew where it stemmed from, he adored it even more.

 

And he hoped she’d give him a chance.

 

Even if he was a posh boy who had not faced much hardship in his life, who had always had more than enough money. Whose petty issues with his father looked ridiculous in comparison to her life story.

 

Just as he was thinking this, his eyes which had been wandering over the faces in the audience suddenly caught the gaze of an elderly gentleman. An elderly gentleman he knew all too well.

 

Mr Carlyle leaned over to his wife and muttered something into her ear. Both of them stared at Philipp, at their son, who was holding the hand of a dark-skinned circus girl. He thought he could see the blood vessel at the side of his father’s neck swelling. A sudden fear of what it might mean for his future if he followed his heart in this matter, caught hold of him and made him drop Anne’s hand.

 

She seemed confused.

Then she followed his gaze.

As she understood, her expression grew cold.

She turned on her heel and strode off without another glance.

 

Later that night he’d scold himself for not following her right then and there, for not running to catch up to her and tell her that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Philipp Carlyle was a coward. And he hated himself for being one.

 

After the performance, everyone of name and rank gathered in the foyer to congratulate Lind on her performance. Barnum enjoyed the attention of all the lords and ladies. He introduced Lind to everyone, glowing with a happiness that was over the top. Charity’s parents came to speak to him. And while Charity encountered them with ice cold professionality, Barnum was all over the top, trying to impress them.

 

It didn’t fit his plan when the the troupe showed up and wanted to mingle with the audience. The pain in Lettie’s eyes was real when he more or less pushed them back out of the door. Philipp wished he could go with them, talk to them, explain that he was on their side. But that would have meant facing Anne and he just couldn’t handle that right now.

 

There was alcohol aplenty being distributed among the well-dressed guests. He downed a couple of glasses of champagne. When they didn’t do the trick, he organized himself a bottle of whiskey. It was a good brand. One of those you kept in the cupboard for special occasions and only shared with a select group of friends. Philipp took the whole bottle and set out into the night with the single purpose of emptying its contents before the break of dawn.


End file.
